


Take What You Want

by toffeehyuck



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alpha Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun, Alpha Mark Lee (NCT), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, M/M, OT23 (NCT), Omega Lee Donghyuck | Haechan, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:28:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28122363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toffeehyuck/pseuds/toffeehyuck
Summary: He’s all puffy eyes, sniffles, and snot but he finds himself sleepily nodding along to his idea. His heart’s a little lighter now that he’s cried his eyes out and has a plan he can pull through with.“Minding my own business.”***Or, Haechan's having a rough time, and everyone somehow makes it worse.
Relationships: Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Lee Donghyuck | Haechan, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 43
Kudos: 306





	Take What You Want

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really have anything to add besides this fic takes place on the east coast of the US, and as I add chapters, I'll expand the tags. I hope you like it!

It's Saturday, which means he and most of his makeshift pack have the day off, and most of the time Haechan would attempt to make the most of the day, find something fun to do that he never has the time for, but he is  _ exhausted _ . 

He wakes up tired. He goes to bed tired. It’s not the newest feeling or sensation; being a college student that works thirty hours a week is draining in ways he never really considered before he started on this path, but he likes his major, and he needs the money, so it’s not like doing anything different is an option. That is the reality of the situation, and he has accepted that.

But lately, it’s everything else that happens when he’s not working or going to class that’s draining him. He can put up with the constant stream of assignments, and endless readings, and the shitty customers that come in expecting him to bend over backwards for a five dollar tip. He has learned to handle and prepare himself for the soul crushing repetitiveness and constant irritation. 

But he never prepared himself for all the shit that happens when he’s at home with the people he considers family. He never imagined that almost no one would indulge his need for affection or his need to show others affection. He doesn’t necessarily need to  _ receive _ affection - it’s something he would  _ like _ of course but he doesn’t  _ need _ it. What he does need is to be able to show others affection, and maybe it’s his fault for being shit with words, and, generally speaking, avoidant of emotional situations, but he’s failing to see the big deal with him hugging or cuddling the people he spends damn near everyday with. 

Every time they roughly push him away or call him annoying, or do some cruel combination of both, he feels that overall feeling of tiredness bear down on his shoulders. The weight settling uncomfortably in his lungs, forcing these barely contained exhausted sighs out of his body. 

The action always hurts but he does a fairly decent job at making sure the others don’t notice. It’s not really their fault, they don’t know his feelings are being hurt, he’s the one keeping a straight face, he’s the one tampering down his scent so they can’t smell the hurt and anger, he’s the one laughing it off, and when he can’t do any of those, he’s the one leaving the room to try and calm down. 

He can deal with a lot of things, but being called out on his shit isn’t one of them, and he  _ knows _ it’s just gonna be chucked up to him being a tempermental omega and he  _ really _ doesn’t wanna hear any of that shit. So, he keeps his concerns to himself. 

He can honestly say that their home life, while strange, is fine. They get along fairly well, rarely letting petty bullshit devolve into full on arguments, even though they are an entirely too large cast of characters with clashing personalities. However, rarely arguing, doesn’t mean that they don’t argue at all. There has been many a time minor disagreements have bubbled over into all out screaming matches, some even going as far as getting violent. They are rare, but they happen, and it makes Haechan all the more grateful that their problems are usually put aside fairly quickly. Because when you’re twenty-three people who all have nothing but one another, living in a run down apartment building, all scrambling to pay rent and scrape together enough money to feed that many mouths, you can’t really afford for there to be long-lasting, group-wide, disagreements. If one half of the room doesn’t want to deal with the other half, they  _ all _ pay for it, and the effects can be costly. So yes, they rarely argue, and they rarely let their issues get so big that they can’t be tackled.

It’s the personal problems that slip through the cracks. The issues that can only be solved by introspection done on your own time. So, Haechan’s current predicament of feeling tired and drained because he’s being ignored or pushed away too quickly or forcefully for his current mental state is  _ his  _ problem. And he intends to treat his issue like the personal problem it is, but sometimes. . .

Sometimes it’s too much. 

Sometimes he can’t talk himself out of his own downward spirals, sometimes he can’t distract himself well enough to stop it before it starts, sometimes everyone else’s voice is louder than his own. The barrage of,  _ “Am i really that annoying? Do they just not like me? Is it my scent? Am I too loud? Do they just tolerate me because they have to?” _ It all gets too loud and his feelings start to get too messy and he finds himself desperately seeking reassurance.

He rolls out of bed perfectly cocooned in his blanket and pads out of his room to go find the reassurance he’s looking for. He would normally seek out Taeil because he’s the sole person who doesn’t complain when Haechan gets clingy, but he’s pretty sure their floor is closer to empty than full right now, and he really doesn’t feel like crossing the hall or going up or down a flight of stairs to find someone. His plan involves throwing himself on the first person he sees, and they will cuddle him regardless of whether they want to or not. He will whine, pout, and force his way into someone's bubble until it becomes  _ their _ bubble, because he needs this. 

And if he sees no one, he has no idea what he’ll do. Probably just cry. 

He never actually has to decide what kind of tantrum he’ll throw because he finds Mark sitting on the couch lazily scrolling through his phone with some crappy Netflix original playing in the background. He looks up when he hears Haechan’s gentle footsteps behind him but doesn’t acknowledge his presence, just goes back to scrolling on his phone. 

He finds the reaction, or lack thereof, extremely fucking annoying and rude and he considers for a second starting a fight because, “ _ Dude, what the fuck?”  _ For someone that’s not only his best friend, but  _ childhood _ friend, he’s pretty shitty at the whole  _ friend _ part of the deal. But, he doesn’t have the energy to add that to his current list of personal problems. He opts to ignore it and walks over until he can plop himself down into Mark’s space.

He dolphin kicks his legs up onto the couch and lays his head in Mark’s lap. He feels Mark tense, and Haechan is sure he’s about to get shoved off, the soul crushing feeling of rejection already starting to crawl up his windpipe, but Mark relaxes. He still doesn’t say anything to Haechan, but he slouches deeper into the couch and spreads his legs a bit wider. The new position has him nuzzling further into Mark, a small tuft of hair bouncing it’s way free of his makeshift blanket hoodie. 

Haechan’s nose is buried in the soft fabric of Mark’s t-shirt and he feels some of his discomfort slipping away. Mark lets him stay, even going as far as pushing the blanket off of Haechan’s head and curling nimble fingers through the mess that is his hair. The gentle scraping of nails against his scalp has Haechan burying himself deeper into Mark’s side, sleep-addled brain going fuzzy at the treatment. He couldn’t even begin to try and speak. He feels all soft and warm and cared for, and Mark’s scent is clouding his senses in a smoky fog of wood and cigars. 

He would never say it out loud, but he loves Mark’s scent. It’s smooth and gentle, and it creates this perfect picture of a quiet night in a small cabin next to the fireplace. His scent gives Haechan the security he needs when his brain is running in fifty different directions all eventually ending up on the same path of insecurity, low self esteem, and self hate. Mark’s presence gives him something to focus on, but his  _ scent _ makes it stop. Gives his brain a break, and, with enough time, turns it to pure mush. 

He’s not sure how long the two of them stay there on the couch. Haechan has slipped in and out of consciousness for most of it. He’s not  _ happy _ , so much so as he's  _ content _ . His own scent seeps out in gentle curls, blending easily with Mark’s. Their small bubble smells like smoked apples and Haechan practically purrs when he notices it. It’s the first time in almost a week that his own scent has made him nauseous, where he hasn’t had the scent of rotten fruit leaking out of his pores in waves. He doesn’t feel like the world is seconds away from crushing him anymore and the all consuming feeling of exhaustion has morphed into the mellow sensation of sleepy. 

This is the best he’s felt in  _ days _ , and it takes all of two minutes to ruin it. 

It all goes to shit when the front door swings open. Johnny and Ten are obnoxiously loud when they come in and Haechan flinches when the door slams behind him. His previous state of docile and fuzzy quickly replaced with a rush of wakefulness and mild irritation. He tries to ignore it, snuggling back into Mark’s side. But then Ten opens his mouth, not to say hi, but to embarrass them. 

Or, more specifically, Mark.

“Awww, look at Mark taking care of his precious omega. Yah, so cute!”

Haechan knows what’s going to happen next, because Mark is predictable, and it’s what he  _ always  _ does. And every time Haechan tells himself that this time it’ll be different, that Mark won’t do what Haechan expects him to. . . he’s wrong. 

And this time is no different than the others. 

He’s wrong -- he’s  _ always _ wrong. 

Mark releases this annoying, high pitched, awkward laugh, vehemently denies showing Haechan any kindness, and loudly declares, “Nah bro, he just forced his way over here like he always does. He whined until I let him stay here.” And with every word that slips out of his mouth, Haechan can feel how Mark’s previously relaxed thigh is drawing up tight. Can feel how he’s suddenly sitting up straight like they’re 12 again and they just got caught passing notes in class. 

He starts to slip his arms out of his blanket cocoon so he can wrap them around Mark’s waist and at least  _ attempt _ to corroborate Mark’s bullshit story of how they got into this position, because no matter how shitty Mark’s being, Haechan is still willing to lie for him, always willing to back him up. But he’ll just have to assume those same rules and beliefs don’t apply to Mark, because his knee jerk reaction is to shove Haechan off his lap. 

Now, to be fair, the push wasn’t that strong. Most of the time it wouldn’t have moved Haechan more than an inch. Most of the time Haechan would still be in Mark’s space, and the situation would devolve into immature bickering, where they spew childish insults at one another. Most of the time, the hurt doesn’t cut too deep and Haeechan can laugh it off, bury it under the sarcastically scathing comments he directs at Mark. But, today is different. Today he’s spent the majority of the day sleeping, he’s in no position to be able to brace himself against any act of force. 

He practically spills out of Mark’s lap onto the floor. 

The first thing he hears is Ten gasp incredulously, "That was so  _ mean! _ " followed by Johnny’s quiet giggles. You know what Haechan doesn’t hear?

He doesn’t hear anything from Mark. Not a word. Not a syllable. Not a fucking  _ sound _ . 

And Haechan is pissed. 

He stays face-down on the floor through all of this. He goes through the typical protocol these moments require: focus on the anger rather than the hurt, start filtering his scent back towards himself, and think about how he’s going to leave the room with at least an ounce of his dignity intact. 

For as tired as he is of everyone constantly pushing him away and calling him annoying and treating him like he’s a nuisance, he’s especially tired of Mark doing it.

He is  _ extra _ tired of Mark doing it. 

Because when Mark does it, it’s bullshit. Mark  _ only _ shoves him off when other people are around. When it’s just the two of them he’s more than willing to indulge Haechan’s every whim. But the moment, the fucking  _ second _ other people are around and can see him treat Haechan like he matters in the slightest, Mark does a 180. Suddenly Haechan finds his supposed best friend treating him as if he would rather have anyone _ other  _ than him in his space. 

And most of the time, Haechan would let it go. Because he knows this is what Mark does. He’s the one that signed up for this every time he seeks Mark out for any kind of physical affection. He knows that he runs the risk of shit like this happening the second people come home and Haechan stupidly sequesters Mark in a public space. 

But every time it happens he has a harder and harder time forgetting about it, a harder time brushing it off, a harder time pretending it never happened. Because each push or awkward removal of limbs has Haechan believing that maybe. . . maybe Mark really doesn’t want him around. Maybe he just just goes along with Haechan in private because he gets some sick satisfaction from embarrassing him when the others come around. He’s not sure, but the longer he thinks about it the harder it is to breathe.

He has to get out of there before he does something extra embarrassing like start crying on the floor like a fucking child. He can already feel the tears burning in the back of his eyes, throat closing up painfully with each sob he refuses to let spill past his lips. He’s a big boy and he’ll be damned if he cries over something this fucking stupid in a public space. So he takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, he ignores the way it rattles it’s way out of his chest and moves onto his next objective. He rolls onto his back, sits up, untangles the blanket that has somehow managed to still be on the couch and wrapped around his legs, and stands up.

Throughout all of this he is tactfully silent and refuses to make eye contact with anyone in the room. He’s not sure what he’ll do if he has to see any of their faces and god forbid he’s forced to speak to them directly. He already feels the crippling embarrassment and the title of “ _ useless irritant”  _ tattooing itself across his forehead. He’s so wrapped up in his own head he’s not really sure what the others are saying or if they stopped laughing, all he hears is his own heartbeat, the loud wash of blood rushing through his system, and the faint chatter that’s being drowned out by the buzzing of the heater. 

Haechan wants to give himself a well deserved pat on the back because he’s back in his blanket burrito, he’s almost to his own bedroom door, and he hasn’t caused a scene. All in all he’s doing pretty well. He just has to make it a bit further and he can be as messy and sad as he wants. It’s only a few more inches until he reaches the safety of his room and he can ugly sob into his pillow for as long as he wants, which is somewhere in between forever and when he passes out from the emotional exhaustion. 

But apparently he’s not allowed to be sad on his own because there’s a large hand clamping down on his shoulder and the tears burning at the back of his eyes are threatening to spill over. 

He just wants to be alone. He doesn’t want to explain himself. He doesn’t want to see that stupid look of pity cast his way. He doesn’t want to hear any obnoxious cooing of “ _ You know he didn’t mean it, Haechanie _ .” He doesn’t want to hear or see any of that shit, so he just keeps moving forward and if the person behind him wants to follow and get the door shut in his face that’s their problem. 

He thinks he might just get away with it, but the hand on his shoulder tightens the second he gets his own hand on his doorknob. He knows if he keeps trying to walk there’s gonna be an uncomfortable pinch in his shoulder for at least an hour, and Haechan doesn’t need to extend his list of reasons on why he wants to cry. He sighs and stops trying to open the door. He’s not gonna ask the person holding him hostage what they want -- he has his pride -- his silence should be enough of an invitation.

“Haechanie. . .” It’s Johnny. It’s almost  _ always _ Johnny. The man has this need to solve everyone’s problems. “Are you okay? He was kind of an asshole. . . I don’t think he meant it. Don’t take it too hard, okay?”

_ Don’t take it too hard?! _

That single phrase leaves his ears ringing, tears rolling down flushed cheeks, and slumped shoulders stiffening with the effort of holding his sobs. He  _ knew _ that if he gave anyone the room to say something to him this is what would happen. That one of the hyungs, some  _ alpha _ , would tell him:  _ “Calm down, it’s not that deep.”  _ But it is that deep and why does everyone that isn’t him get away with being a complete dickhead. Apparently the only lines allowed to be crossed are his and he is tired.

He’s so fucking tired. 

He tenses and shrugs his shoulders to loosen Johnny’s hold and laughs him off, “You’re right, hyung.” His voice sounds wet and broken to his own ears but he tells him as much of the truth that he’s willing to share, “I’m just tired.” 

Johnny’s hand slips off his shoulder and he leaves with a quiet, “Okay,” and a pat to Haechan’s blanket covered head. 

Haechan opens and closes the door behind him, slides the window open, and flops sideways onto his bed. He relaxes into his blanket cocoon and for a second, Haechan thinks maybe he’ll just fall asleep, that the last ten minutes were draining enough to put him out of his misery for a few hours. But then the scent of rotting apples gets so thick he finds himself choking on his own sadness. All the fight he had disappears the second the smell of spoiled fruit gets so strong he can taste it. 

His tears are flowing non stop at this point and he doesn’t even try to wipe them away, he just lets them drip off his face however they’d like. His pillow is wet and gross but he couldn’t care less, he’s too busy trying to muffle his sobs into the dense fabric. 

He feels so  _ stupid _ . He set himself up to be this upset because he’s an attention whore that couldn’t just wallow in his own sadness by himself. If he hadn’t gone out there looking to force himself on someone he wouldn’t be crying over it, like the dumbass he is now, because his hyungs were  _ mean _ to him. 

He runs through a loop of all the things that went wrong. He fixates on how Johnny told him to not take it so hard. Hears a constant loop of the quiet giggling and sighs of disappointment at him being face down on the floor. He thinks about Mark shoving him off the second they weren’t alone anymore, and how he just sat there in silence throughout the whole ordeal. And all these things could have been avoided if he had just stayed in his room, kept to himself, and let his problems remain  _ his  _ problems. 

Haechan’s not sure what else he was supposed to take from everything that just happened. . . but minding his own business sounds like the best solution. 

He’s all puffy eyes, sniffles, and snot but he finds himself sleepily nodding along to his idea. His heart’s a little lighter now that he’s cried his eyes out and has a plan he can pull through with.

_ “Minding my own business.” _

**🌲**

Haechan wakes up at ass o’clock the next day, and oddly enough, he feels okay. He thought for sure he would wake up with cottonmouth, a massive headache, and the same overtired feeling he wakes up with every day. But he feels more like jelly than person currently, and for the first time in a long time he doesn’t feel like a burden. Out of all the things he wasn’t expecting, not feeling like his existence itself is a disturbance, is by far the most surprising. Yes, the solution he came up with is fairly childish if he’s honest, but he’s not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth. He feels stable, not good, but stable, and with how he’s been feeling for the past few weeks he’ll take stable and run with it. 

It’s Doyoung’s gentle snores that steer him off his self justifying train of thought to the more pressing matters of: What time is it? How long was he out? And how much longer does he have to roll around in his bed sheets doing absolutely nothing?

While it’s still the weekend, Sunday is not actually a day off. It’s considered prep day in their house. It’s the day everyone agrees to get every house chore they ignored for the week out of the way. They break up in teams and handle the grocery shopping, the cleaning, the budgeting for the week, and, when that’s all over, they throw themselves into the dingy living room of one of the apartments and eat cheap takeout from down the street. It’s the easiest way to handle the size of their pack and gives them a chance to at least see one another after not crossing paths at all throughout the week. Sunday chores and dinner are tradition and, typically, a requirement, everyone has to be there no excuses. 

But Haechan has a permanent get out of jail free card because he works open to close as a server at  _ The Pit _ (an unnecessarily expensive steakhouse, in his humble opinion) every Sunday. He clocks in at 10:30 am and clocks out whenever the last person leaves and the server stations are completely closed out. Sometimes he gets lucky and it’s 10 pm exactly, some nights he meets customers from hell and doesn’t leave until 11:15 pm, but most of the time he gets out of there at 10:45 pm, and by time he gets home he’s too tired to eat or socialize. He just wants to shower and pass out and not deal with the world, and the people in his world, until he opens his eyes again for the next day. Everyone seems to understand this and leaves him be as long as he’s up and out of the house to go grocery shopping at 7:30. 

He rolls over with a quiet groan and blindly reaches out for his phone. The blue light is way too bright for his crusty puffy eyes but if he squints just right he can make out a five and what looks like a two. He’s really not concerned with the minutes, just the hour, and if it’s five am, that means his alarm won’t go off for another two-ish hours. It also means that he slept for, at the least, nine hours, at most twelve, because he’s really not sure when he traded in ugly sobbing for dreamless unconsciousness, but he’s grateful. He can’t even begin to remember the last time he slept for more than five hours and wasn’t violently shaken awake because there was something he was gonna be late for. 

It’s nice.

He lets the device slip from his fingers and curls back up into a ball under his covers. He tugs his too-big to be forgotten teddy bear back into his arms and hums some incoherent tune to the inanimate object. He runs his fingers over the soft fur, tugs at it's ears, buries his nose in its floppy neck and he feels content. He doesn’t know why he hadn’t considered this but stuffed animals are way more cuddly than humans and they don’t complain. They’re two for two and he finds himself apologizing to the bear in tired childish mumbles: 

_ “You’re so soft. . .I should--should hug you all the time. You’re nice to me.” _

He continues his childish rambling until the lingering sleepy pulls him back into a light dose. The next time he wakes up it’s a half hour before his alarm’s supposed to go off and staying in bed any longer would be pointless. And he kind of needs to hide the physical evidence of his mental breakdown from the previous night so getting to the shower first and unhindered would be great.

Getting out of bed takes way more effort than he ever planned but he manages. He blindly makes his way around the room grabbing his shower caddy, towel, and a change of clothes in the practiced stumbling he’s perfected through years of refusing to open his eyes until he absolutely has to. He opens the door in the jerry rigged way that keeps it from squeaking obnoxiously and creeps out into the hallway. He hears the stove burning and the soft clanking of pots and pans in the kitchen and immediately knows Taeyong is up and if he wants to avoid conversation his best bet is to pretend he has no idea he’s there. With quick and sure steps he bypasses the entrance to the kitchen and gets down the hall to the bathroom. When he slips into the bathroom and closes the door, he finds himself releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

He turns on the light and physically recoils at the sight of his own reflection in the mirror. To be fair, the lights in the bathroom aren’t the most flattering (it’s the reason why Haechan’s got a whole mirror and lights setup on his desk) but he looks like he tried to fight a tentacle monster and got sucker punched in both eyes and cheeks. His eyes are puffy and swollen, and the more he tries to open them he feels the skin around the edges tugging and stretching grossly against the boogers and day old tears. His cheeks are  _ still _ red and when he goes to prod at them he hisses at the contact. It hurts and it feels weirdly wet and raw. 

He wants to slap himself because what kind of dumbass gives themselves actual open wounds trying to wipe their tears away?! Let alone people in his line of business, his face is a major part of the whole deal! No one wants to tip the ugly scarred omega.

His original blissful mood is gone and he feels like crying again, this time due to his own stupidity. But he doesn’t have time for that, so he settles for pressing his fingers into his cheeks, just enough to burn, and goes about his business. The highlight of the ordeal is when he used his facial cleanser and the soap seeped into the open cuts on his cheeks and reminded him of just how stupid he is, but other than that his shower and morning maintenance goes by uneventfully. He gets one last good look at himself in the mirror and finds himself thanking the universe that his makeup skills are decent and he can salvage his pretty face. 

He puts all his stuff back into his room and makes his way into the kitchen. Most mornings he would launch himself at the first person he sees in some loud good morning greeting but with his new plan and his shitty mood he just nods back at Taeyong in greeting, and steps in where he can to help make breakfast. As the minutes tick by and the rest of the grocery store crew roll in from their bedrooms and the other apartments, Haechan stays silent. He doesn’t have anything to say and his voice is probably shot. He really isn’t interested in being questioned on why he sounds like he’s been drinking cement smoothies. And from the way everyone seems all too happy to be talking to one another, he doubts there’ll be any questions thrown his way. 

His doubts were correct. 

Haechan leaves the table first. He feels eyes on him when he gets up but he doesn’t acknowledge the looks and whoevers looking doesn’t say anything, so he keeps walking. He heads for his room and starts grabbing the stuff he’ll need to get through the day. He runs through his mental checklist of phone, wallet, keys, and once he has all of those he goes back to the kitchen to take the stupidly long list of items off the fridge. It’s technically his job to remove anything they don’t absolutely need, and after a quick scan he can see at least ten unnecessary items, but he’s not in the mood, nor does he have the patience to argue with anyone about why they don’t need stupid shit like ice pops in the dead of winter. As far as he’s concerned, this is not his problem today, he’s just gonna buy the crap on the list and force the alphas to push the cart and carry the shit upstairs when they get back. 

So whoever wanted the popsicles, it’s their lucky day.

He strolls out of the kitchen and waltzes up to Jaehyun’s right side to steal his car keys. He gets his pointer finger through the key ring before Jaehyun’s hand is shooting out to cover the keys with his own hand. Haechan holds still and waits for Jaehyun to at least  _ ask _ him a question, but Jaehyun just keeps a firm flat palm on the keys clearly expecting him to speak up first. 

Haechan scoffs but answers the silent question, “Papa, It’s cold.” Even in his own ears his voice sounds whiny and exasperated, “I’m just starting the car like I have been for the last three weeks now.” Jaehyun still doesn’t look up. He just grunts, pick his hand up, and goes back to shoveling food in his mouth. The action is so annoyingly stereotypical that Haechan can’t help but rolls his eyes as he slips the keys off the table. When he gets to the door he does one final check of everything he needs, slips on his coat and sneakers, and leaves for the car waiting to be started downstairs. 

He walks down the flights of stairs because it’s just  _ one _ flight of stairs, and the elevator’s so old and run down that he’s convinced he’ll die if he uses it. Walking down the stairs gives him an opportunity to see what the “house” looks like while it’s still quiet. During the day, the front door to each apartment is wide open. They walk in and out whenever they please, taking up space on whatever floor they prefer to be on at the time. But in the early hours of the morning, when everyone’s still asleep, the building sleeps like the rest of the family. The doors are shut, the constant movement stops, and there’s an unusually heavy silence that settles over the house. Normally, it creeps him out, but today. . . today he’s just happy he doesn’t have to smile and talk to every single person he encounters between his bedroom door and the outside world. 

Pushing through the front door is always an effort. It’s solid and heavy and the only door in the building that they can’t figure out how to “fix up,” - they can’t even find new locks that will  _ fit _ the damn thing. Pushing through it always feels like trying to pull yourself free of quicksand. Haechan has given up on using the strength in his arms to open it, now he just keeps walking and forces it open with his shoulder and all his weight behind him. 

He hisses when the wind hits him in the face, his already sensitive and raw cheeks burn as the wind whips around him. He briefly considers letting the door close and waiting in the hallway, let the others deal with warming up the car. But then he remembers who he’s dealing with and that dumbasses one, two, and three (Johnny, Jaehyun, and Mark), will happily sit in a below freezing car pretending they’re not cold as fuck because of that alpha pride bullshit. So he steals himself to brave the cold and steps out into the tundra. It takes a minute (long enough for the door to click shut behind him), but he manages. He flips his hood up, tilts his head down, and shoves his hands as deep into his pockets as he can. 

He’s not even sure how far the car is from where he’s standing, he’s just guessing that Jaehyun made this as easy as possible for him so the car is most likely right from the door and on their side of the road. The wind’s brutal today, whipping by him so fast it leaves his ears ringing. He’s already conscious of the abuse he put his face through, opting to wear glasses to hide what he can while still makeup free, but he’s more than sure wind burn would make everything 100 times worse, so he keeps his head down. He keeps his thumb over the lock button on the keys listening to the car locking and unlocking, the sound getting louder and clearer as he gets closer. Haechan stops walking when he sees the pale flash of yellow across the beige pavement, pressing the button one last time to unlock the doors. 

The “car” in question is technically a large black suv. It’s nice, and has the space to handle large loads (which they need), but it takes so much effort to get in and out of it. He has to climb up and in just to get into the passenger seat. And god forbid he accidentally pulls the door too far out, because then he has to lean out, pray he doesn’t bust his ass, and use his measly fingertips to get a grip and close it. 

He should be appreciative there’s a car at all for him to get into, but dammit, it takes work. He’s sighing before he even opens the car door, huffing as he hauls himself up and into the seat, and groaning in relief when he gets a hold of the door and closes it behind him. He leans over to his left, jams the keys into the ignition, and turns his hand to the right until he feels the rumble of the engine. He moves to start flipping open all the vents and turning the heat as high as it can go before shoving his hands back in his pockets. . . and then he pauses. 

He gently sways in his seat, contemplating his options.

Most days, he likes to look at the passing scenery, so he stays leaning to the left, body and head facing the frosted glass. But today he thinks he stands a better chance not interacting if he just closes his eyes. If he spends the few minutes he’s stuck in a confined space asleep, or at least trying to sleep, he might not have to speak at all until he gets into the supermarket. 

He nods along to his own plans, letting his body drift to the right, head gently resting against the window. He can feel the cold seeping through the fabric of his hoodie but it’s not cold enough to make him want to move. 

He figures he’ll be alone for another ten minutes before the other three are ready to go anywhere so he lets himself doze off to the tuneless buzzing of the heaters. He’s not sure how long he dances in between this bubble of awake and asleep but he fully wakes up when the car door is swung open with way more force than necessary. He almost spills out of the car, but there’s a hand catching him before he can go crashing against the pavement. He doesn’t have to look up to see who it is, their scent gives it away, and he’s currently getting a lungful of Johnny. Haechan practically rips himself away from the contact, curling in on himself while the alpha just stands there. 

He can tell Johnny’s looking at him like he has two heads, but the idea of being touched by him makes him nauseous. He’s being dramatic, he  _ knows _ that, but he wants nothing to do with Johnny almost as much as he wants nothing to do with Mark right now. Johnny may not have caused his little downward spiral - that is Mark’s fault, and Mark’s fault alone - but Johnny kicked him while he was down, and sees no problem with his way of injecting himself in situations that don’t involve him, nor does he see a problem with how he spoke to Haechan, because yesterday was not the first time. 

He doesn’t want to speak to him. 

He doesn’t even want to look at him. 

Haechan leans forward and grips the inner door handle and tugs on it. He knows he won’t be able to actually close the door, Johnny’s stupidly large frame is blocking the doors path, but he feels like the action communicates his silent message of,  _ “Leave me alone.” _

Apparently reading between the lines isn’t one of his strong suits because he still tries to speak to him, or, even worse, give him orders, “Get out, and sit in the back.”

Haechan pretends he doesn’t hear him and tugs on the door handle again. 

“Dude, get out.”

Again he holds his ground, says nothing, and tugs on the door handle. 

Haechan hears both doors on the right side of the car open and shut, a weird mixture of pine and tobacco fills the confined space making him hyper aware Jaehyun and Mark are watching his little standoff with the oldest alpha. 

“Are you just gonna stare at me?” The arm Johnny’s using to hold the door open stiffens and extends, forcing Haechan to either let go or move with the door. 

He lets go of the handle, but doesn’t make any moves to get up. He just continues to stare in Johnny’s general direction. What he’s doing is a little more than rude, but Johnny was an asshole first.

Johnny scoffs and moves to grab Haechan’s wrist, but Haechan jerks away from him, speaking up for the first time, “Don’t. Touch. Me.” His usually sweet voice is gruff and. . . dead. He sounds empty, and it would scare him if he wasn’t dead set on being left the fuck alone.

Johnny’s face briefly twists in confusion before it settles on the annoyed exasperation he’s been rocking since Haechan ignored him the first time. “What’s your problem today? Why are you ignoring me?”

Haechan feels the same ugly feeling of inferiority and anger brewing in his chest that happened the second Johnny told him “ _ Don’t take it too hard.”  _ He’s not stupid. He knows the implication behind the word “ _ today.” _ He knows Johnny’s treating this as if Haechan throws a fucking hissy fit every other day over something stupid, and he has never been more tired of the bullshit than he is today. He wants to yell and scream, and the urge to cry is building behind his eyes but he will not be having a repeat of yesterday. If everyone else gets to be a dick, and bully their way into getting their way, he will too. 

“I’m not getting out. I think me not moving made that pretty clear, so why would I waste my breath answering a question you already know the answer to. . . _ hyung _ .”

Johnny looks like he’s caught between wanting to yell at him and figure out what the actual problem is, but then Haechan hears movement in the back seat. The scent of smoke and cigars gets impossibly close and Haechan swears he sees red, “Donghyuck, just--”

He doesn’t even give him the chance to speak more than those two words. He cuts him off quickly and succinctly, “No one was fucking talking to you. Mind your business.” And because Mark is a coward when it comes to dealing with Haechan in public, he backs off, falling back into his seat with a quiet thud. A part of himself, the one that’s miserable and vindictive, is disgustingly satisfied with how quickly Mark gave up. 

Johnny opens and closes his mouth a few times and seems to settle on trying to defend Mark’s honor, “Hey, there was no reason to speak to him like that.” Haechan can hear the pout in his voice, and he catches Johnny’s gaze flicking back and forth between him and wherever Mark is. 

Haechan is gearing up to get his two cents in when Jaehyun’s voice sounds off directly behind him, “Johnny, please just get in the back.” 

Haechan looks over to see Jaehyun laying his head on the wheel, hands resting at ten and two. He looks tired. His eyes are half closed, he’s blinking slowly, and he’s still got a sleepy red flush to his face, “I'm tired. He’s in a bad mood. Just get in the back so we can go.” 

Johnny and Jaehyun seem to have their own staring contest before Johnny’s rolling his eyes, grumbling, “ _ Whipped _ ,” under his breath, and slamming the car door shut. Jaehyun just sighs and puts the car into drive.

Haechan doesn’t give himself time to think about it. If he had, he probably wouldn’t have done it. He reaches over to pat the hand covering the gear stick. He taps the back of Jaehyun’s hand twice before returning to his original position. Jaehyun directs a small smile towards him and flips his hand over in a silent invitation. 

Haechan’s eyebrows furrow, an ugly wrinkle forming in the center because he finds himself wanting to both run away from it and allow it. He’s naturally tactile but he’s tired of his feelings being hurt and disregarded, and while Jaehyun hasn’t directly upset him, he’s trying to prove a point to himself. That he doesn’t  _ need _ to cling, that he doesn’t  _ need _ the validation, that he doesn’t  _ need _ anyone to help him feel okay. He wants to be able to handle his emotions by himself, so while Jaehyun hasn’t done anything to hurt him. . . he can’t accept it. 

Haechan just gently shakes his head. It’s more for himself than Jaehyun, whose got his eyes on the road. But when Haechan reaches over a second time, he curls Jaehyun’s fingers in on themselves and allows himself another gentle squeeze before letting go completely. Jaehyun seems to get the idea because he pulls his hand from the center and switches his driving hand. 

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t sure what possessed him to do it. He knows for a fact it was the same ugly feeling that reared its head earlier, the vindictive bitter bitch that always has something to say when it comes to Mark. He flips the visor down and flicks his eyes up for just a second, just long enough to take a peak in the mirror. He sees Mark’s eyes boring into the console, lips pressed into a thin line, and Haechan is sure if Mark hadn’t learned how to control his scent he would be able to smell the rage.

He smirks, little voice whispering, “ _ Good. . . glad he saw.”  _ Before he’s flipping the visor back up, rolling his shoulders and slumping back into his little corner against the window. He feels unreasonably proud of himself for being able to shake Johnny off, shut down Mark, and for turning down Jaehyun’s offer. That, for the first time in a long time, he put how he feels above how others are perceiving him or other people’s feelings. It’s a small victory but a victory all the same. 

The small back and forth gives him enough energy to not feel the existential dread he felt earlier this morning weighing him down. Yes, his day is already exhausting, and it's going to be long, but it doesn’t mean he has to let other people make him miserable. He has learned he can do that all by himself, he doesn’t need the help. 

🍎

When they reach the actual grocery store, they’re all on edge, except for maybe Jaehyun, who looks ready to fall asleep standing up. But the other three are various levels of upset. Haechan fully admits that he created every last ounce of tension, but he also admits he wants away from it just as bad as the other two do. 

So while everyone else gets out of the car, Haechan sits and waits. He takes the time to pull himself together one last time. To remind himself that they’ve done this more than a hundred times. That they’ll be in and out if everyone sticks to the plan. And the quicker they get this done, the quicker he can get away from the suffocating atmosphere that, again, he himself created. 

He waits in the car until they’ve all grabbed carts and are loitering in front of the entrance before he makes a move to join them. 

He takes long, quick strides to reach the group of alphas, and refuses to break his stride as he walks past them right through the front doors. He has no intention of stopping, he fully expects they’re right behind him, and that they’re listening to what they’re being told. “You know the rules. Don’t disappear. Stay behind me. Don’t do anything stupid. And,” he whirls around, an accusatory finger pointed in their direction, “you get  _ one _ stupid, unnecessary thing while we’re here. Do not ask me if it is okay because I will say no, just put it in the cart and say nothing. Are we clear?” 

Haechan waits for the chorus of grumbled agreements before whipping out the list and moving towards the first aisle

**🌲**

They get home, Haechan sends the usual,  _ "we're back,"  _ text and then. . . he does nothing. He sits and watches the front door. 

He can hear the trunk opening, he can hear the rustling of their reusable grocery bags, he can hear their quiet grunts as they struggle to pull them out, and he still just watches the front door. 

The cold rushes in and leaves no corner untouched. It seeps through his jacket and hoodie, biting at the back of his neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps up his arms. He's freezing, and he could be warm if he just went upstairs, but he still watches the front door. 

He stays stock still until he sees the front door bust open and then he looks away. He doesn't wait to see who actually comes outside, he slides his vision towards the back of the car, hand automatically moving to flip the visor down again. He's not even sure what he's looking for, but he watches. 

He watches Johnny and Jaehyun count to three before pulling what has to be at least 100 plus pounds of food out of the trunk before walking away. He may not have seen who came out the front door, but it doesn't take long before he finds out who came out to help. The bright bouncy blonde hair stands out in stark contrast to the dreary winter background, telling him exactly who it is, Jungwoo.

Mark's the last one there, moving to grab what's left in the trunk, but the beta throws himself at Mark fully expecting to be caught. 

And to no one's surprise, Mark does. Mark drops the bags resting in his arms back into the trunk and focuses on keeping the both of them upright. 

He watches Jungwoo squirm and wiggle his way around Mark, wrapping his arms around his waist, and Haechan can’t hold back his deep sigh of irritation. 

Because this was  _ exactly  _ what he was talking about. 

Mark will let anyone who isn’t Haechan into his space publicly. They don’t have to fight, and push, and beg to be allowed into Mark’s bubble, they just have to show their intentions and he lets it happen. For two people that call themselves best friends, soulmates, and have some kind of will-they-won’t-they tension, Mark sure does treat him like he’s some kind of pest. He hasn’t even pretended to show any remorse for what he did yesterday. And the only attempt he made to speak to him was to try to call him a dramatic bitch. 

Mark can probably feel the eyes boring into him because he picks his head up and locks eyes with Haechan. Most of the time Haechan would look away, too embarrassed to have been caught staring, but Haechan doesn’t have the energy to pretend he’s not upset. He holds Mark’s eye contact, and Mark gives him this awkward half smile, the right corner of his lips twitching up in a peace offering. 

Haechan just rolls his eyes. He manages to catch the corners of Mark’s lips dipping into a frown before he closes the visor.

Haechan looks out the window to see Jaehyun leaning in the doorway. He usually, unless one of them (usually himself or Johnny) decides to bother him, spends his mornings alone. He always comes back down to check the car. He's not even focused on anything specific, he just picks a random spot in front of him to stare at and zones out. Years ago, Haechan found it kind of scary; now, it’s one of those weird quirks he’s learned to accept. 

Jaehyun’s point of interest today seems to be the car window, or Haechan himself, and he giggles when he notices it. He shakes his head similar to a wet puppy and waits to see if Jaehyun’s eyes focus in on the action. It's a bit hard to tell because the windows are tinted, but he's sure he sees Jaehyun’s dopey smile and red ears, and for the first time all day, Haechan finds himself smiling. 

The moment doesn’t last long. The trunk is slamming shut and Haechan figures he should get the ball rolling on actually getting out the car and going upstairs. Jaehyun holds the door open for Mark and Jungwoo before he walks up to the car and opens the door. He holds a hand out to help him out and Haechan smiles at him again, but waves the hand away and lets himself slide out of the car. Haechan misses the look of confusion that comes across Jaehyun's face before shrugging it off and closing the car door. 

He appreciates the gesture but he has no plans on caving this early. 

But it was nice not to be the one to initiate for once.

🍎

**Author's Note:**

> I love this fic. I've been working on it for so long and I'm so happy at least a chunk of it is up and out of the way. Let me know what you think. And if you want to talk about just about any Haechan ship I'm here:  
> [@toffeehyuck](https://twitter.com/toffeehyuck)  
> [@curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/toffeehyuck)


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